The Mind Won't Settle at the Study Table

There's a Bengali film titled: "The Mind Won't Sit at the Study Table" (2009). This sentiment is exactly what every student feels in their heart! But somehow or other, the mind must be made to sit at that study table! Don't we have to pass? No worries—our teacher is none other than Lord Krishna himself. In verse 2.40 of the Gita, the Lord says:

nehābhikrama-nāśo'sti pratyavāyo na vidyate
svalpam apy asya dharmasya trāyate mahato bhayāt
nehābhikrama-nāśo'sti—"On this great path of yoga-wisdom, there is no fear that incomplete effort will be wasted." You begin some work; due to circumstances, that work must be suspended. When you return to that work again, you won't have to start from the beginning—though in many areas of life we must start from scratch, as with all religious ceremonies.
Generally, if you begin a religious ritual and leave it half-finished, you cannot return and complete the remaining half; you must start again from the beginning. But on the path of karma-yoga, the fruits of all work accumulate. Whatever is completed remains completed. So finish whatever you can manage, then set it aside; later, when you return, you can continue from where you left off without any difficulty. But the beginning must be made—without starting, the future remains dark.
Keep working, keep at it. When fatigue or other preoccupations arise along the way, you may pause (take a little break)—that's all that's needed. By building oneself up little by little this way, a person eventually becomes truly human. The power of the human mind grows strong through precisely this process. You accomplish something, your character develops to some degree; then you must become busy with other work, temporarily forgetting the urgency of the previous task; you return and begin again. The Lord gives this assurance: there's no problem, this is how the work gets done. (But you must return to the work—if you don't return, everything is lost.)
This verse teaches us more: on this path, begun work does not bear no fruit, nor does any mistake in the work produce harmful consequences. The verse ends with an extraordinary promise: even the slightest practice of this dharma (whatever is one's work, that is one's dharma) protects us from great fear through this philosophy of life.
Building character or mental strength is not the work of a single day. One must persist, gradually building up—this way, one day there dawns a great character-sun, a firm character; all this will happen, but it takes some time. For this, patience must be maintained at any cost, whatever the circumstances.
Krishna assures us: incomplete effort does not go to waste; whatever you accomplish before leaving this world (that is, the impressions formed) remains with you (in the mind). Return and begin from where you left off—whether in the next period or the next birth.
In reality, most people don't even attempt this little bit. The Lord says, "Even if you strive to do something small according to your capacity and strength, ultimately your welfare and good will result." People want to do something great, yet cannot even make the beginning (by doing something small). The courage and urge to start is essential, even more essential than knowledge itself.
With the help of intellect, humans control and direct their entire way of life. The Lord therefore gives us some understanding of the different types of intellect. Vyavasāyātmikā buddhi—resolute, determined intellect. Ordinary people, at a little criticism, in a slightly adverse or opposing environment—even after taking up work—retreat. Persistence—that is, not fleeing from work no matter what obstacles arise—this is 'vyavasāyātmikā buddhi.' For this, you can act according to the meaning of Gita verses 6.35-36. What is Lord Krishna teaching here? Let's see.
Without listening to the mind, by depending on indriya-saṅghāta (external effort)—whether one feels like it or not, even if done by force, the work must be continued. Whatever distracts the mind (mobile phones, laptops, tablets and all kinds of devices, even unnecessary material memories or someone's company)—keep these away from sight when working. For two weeks, bind yourself (by force) to necessary work for long periods, immerse yourself in it—don't give up even if you're dying. (The difference between inaction and death isn't that great anyway!) If nothing happens after practicing this for just fifteen days, come to my office and beat me with shoes for wasting your time.
I'm speaking to students. For doing anything good in life, verses 2.40, 6.35, and 6.36 are extremely helpful. Regarding studies (even if the mind doesn't want to, even if done by force), become several times more focused through daily practice. Don't remain static, rise higher. If you give too much importance to the mind, the mind literally climbs on your shoulders! The mind is more mischievous than the most mischievous boy in your neighborhood! Not giving importance to the mind, remaining indifferent and detached from all unnecessary matters while engaging in one's own work (that is, dharma)—this is called vairāgya (detachment).
Don't feel like studying? Why should you? Who ever feels like it anyway? There's no need to feel like it; go against the mind and keep yourself bound to the table for at least 7-8 hours a day for fifteen days. During that time, no electronic device should be kept in sight. Don't have rope at home? No, no, I'm not telling you to put it around your neck; rather I'm saying, if necessary, tie yourself to the chair with rope. Let people say whatever they want. (If you don't eat, who will feed you? For how long will they feed you? In this world, who feeds whom without reason, tell me!) You cannot get up from the chair, only if you need the bathroom should you get up. Studying is not something to be casual about.
To explain this matter a bit more, I'm quoting from the 'Kathamrita.'
"What is intense vairāgya? Listen to a story. There was a drought in a certain country. All the farmers were digging channels to bring water from far away. One farmer was very determined; one day he vowed that until water comes, until the channel connects with the river, he would keep digging. Meanwhile, it was time for his bath. The housewife then sent oil through her daughter. The daughter said, 'Father! It's getting late, apply oil and bathe.' He said, 'Go away, I have work now.' When it was two periods into the day, the farmer was still working in the field. There was no mention of bathing. His wife then came to the field and said, 'Why haven't you bathed yet? The rice has gone cold, you're being excessive! Do it tomorrow, you must eat something!' Scolding him, the farmer chased her away with his spade and said, 'Don't you have sense? It hasn't rained. No farming has been possible, now what will the children eat? You'll all die of hunger! I've vowed to bring water to the field today, only then will I speak of bathing and eating.' Seeing the situation, his wife ran away. The farmer worked hard all day, and in the evening connected the channel to the river. Then he sat on one side and watched the river water flowing into the field with a gurgling sound. His mind then became peaceful and filled with joy. Going home, he called his wife and said, 'Here, now give me oil and prepare some tobacco.' Then he calmly bathed and ate and went to sleep contentedly! This determination is the example of intense vairāgya."
"Another farmer—he too was bringing water to his field. When his wife went and said, 'It's very late now, come, there's no need for such excess,' then without much argument he put down his spade and said to his wife, 'Since you're saying so, let's go!' (Everyone laughed) That farmer never managed to bring water to his field. This is the example of weak vairāgya." (Shrishri Ramakrishna Kathamrita, December 14, 1882)
...one must have—if one wants to become human, one must have intense determination or stubbornness like the first farmer. By being stubborn about trivial matters, one can never become anything worthwhile. There's no shortage of people who want to divert us from our work; rather, such people are everywhere around us. What is our role here? I find the answer in a Shyama song by the folk poet and composer Dasharath Ray: "It's no one's fault, Mother, I drown in waters I've dug myself, Shyama." Yes, all the fault is ours. What we don't (consciously or externally—not mentally) try to finish, how will it get finished by itself? The mind will naturally want to flee—fleeing is the mind's very nature! The mind wanted to flee, and immediately I ran away with my tail up! One who cannot control the mind with the help of one's own consciousness—what kind of human is that?
The shirkers seem to wait for someone to come and say, "Stop now! You've worked enough, now rest a little!" Since the mind tends toward shirking, it looks for excuses to abandon work and flee. The shirker's mind, delighted, tells him, "Oh, you didn't want to flee! You only fled because he told you to! What's your fault here? And the body needs some rest too, doesn't it?" Hearing the mind's excuse, his joy knows no bounds! Before the body, he sends his mind to bed (to sleep). Without his knowledge, words slip from his mouth...ah, a mind exactly like the mind wants!
Success will surely come if one persists with dedication, without giving priority to personal and physical comfort. And this intellect—the intelligence that, once a work has been accepted as duty, continues that work tirelessly like the first farmer despite hundreds of obstacles and difficulties—this is called vyavasāyātmikā buddhi. In reality, this is the correct attitude toward work. The Gita tells us to adopt vyavasāyātmikā buddhi.
Another name for such positive attitude is ātma-śraddhā (self-faith). Having faith in oneself—I can do it, I will certainly do it—maintaining this attitude despite hundreds of obstacles. One who doesn't believe in one's own capability—whether they believe or disbelieve in God makes no difference. One must first learn to rely on one's own strength—once that happens, everything else happens automatically. Knowing how to work is not important; pushing aside all lethargy and obstacles to engage oneself in work—that is everything. Those who work are always valued more than those who merely know.
We must keep in mind that self-faith should be logical. Someone who sleeps after reading, spends time wandering here and there, has locked their brain's gray matter inside a chest—such a person's self-faith is merely another name for foolishness. Today people don't look at books, don't speak looking into others' eyes, don't give time to close ones—don't even give time to themselves, constantly surrendering all their concentration to their mobile phones. Yet among these people you'll find many whose self-faith, without any visible reason, is literally at epic levels! Better is the wise person's self-restraint than the fool's self-confidence.
In the Gita, this earthly human life is shown as very significant. This is why all the Gita's teachings have remained (and will remain) relevant in all times, all religions (communities), and all countries. This precious lifespan of ours must be utilized properly through righteous action, by becoming spiritually conscious.
Where there is Yogeshwar Sri Krishna and the archer—that is, the karma yogi Arjuna—there both prosperity and victory are assured. Taking the Gita as guru, through relative discernment—progressing from the senses to the inner faculties, from the inner faculties to the individual soul—if one can make one's individual soul worthy of becoming the Gita's disciple, then no other philosophy need be sought for living beautifully.
(Since the individual soul is the supreme witness, it cannot truly be made a disciple, just as the statement "the sun gives light" is not accurate. The sun does not consciously give light; the sun is the (ultimate or final) source of light (this is the sun's very nature; seeing all that is revealed in the sun's light, it appears that we can see these things only because the sun has given light. If we say "the sun gives light," we must also consider the opposite conclusion "the sun does not give light," which is impossible in practical terms—since what is possible to do must surely be possible not to do—then how does the sun give light? We can say "the moon gives light" because the moon is a relative source of light (not the ultimate or final source); the moon's source of light is the sun. Without light coming from the sun, the moon cannot give light.)—For the sake of understanding, apparent agency is attributed to the sun—just as apparent witnesshood is attributed to Brahman.)
Verses 2/40, 6/35, 6/36 of the Gita—these verses must not be memorized but internalized, that is, their significance must be very well understood and one must throw down a challenge to oneself in exactly the way that Lord Sri Krishna inspired his friend Partha with self-confidence in the Gita (in verse 2/3): "Such inactive (weak) behavior (attitude) does not befit you." This empowering sentiment is the very life of the Gita. The awakening of this sentiment is the awakening of consciousness.
Final words. In this writing I have tried to speak about the philosophy of four verses from the Gita. If these four verses are well understood with their significance and studied repeatedly, and if one acts accordingly, it is possible to transform oneself positively.